The Doctor and Detective Dance
by grannysknitting
Summary: does what it says on the tin. slightly early birthday pressie. parted of the 'unexpected' arc. slash - but mild


A/N - Happy birthday Mattsloved1!

Warnings – established relationships (including slash). Not a cross over with Dr Who.

Disclaimer – characters and settings as depicted in the BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.

**The Doctor and the Detective Dance**

Sherlock gripped his hair in two fists and glared at Lestrade. The case was unusual – after all how often did you investigate the illegal sale of musical instruments – but everything hinged on getting into one particular venue without anyone noticing. Unfortunately, said venue was in the middle of preparing for a rather busy charity event and they would not be able to gain unobtrusive access unless they were somehow involved in said event.

"There _must_ be a way in there!" he insisted and John sighed. John had lots of sighs, some of which Sherlock really liked. He didn't like this one. It was the Not-Good-therefore-Not-Pleased sigh. A glance at his partner showed that John clearly didn't like the tone of voice that Sherlock was using and he let go of his hair, grimacing in apology.

"It's a charity fund raiser, freak. Only competitors are going in there," Donovan piped up, a particularly spiteful look on her face. She'd clearly had a late night with Anderson again and Sherlock had no compunction about bringing that up very loudly if she annoyed him any further.

"Unless you can dance, there is no way you're getting in there," she continued and Sherlock scowled at her ferociously.

Lestrade and John both winced, then met each others eyes in a sort of horrified recognition.

"You both dance?" Sherlock was diverted from putting Donovan in her place by the idea that both his partner and his assistant were able to engage in the formal style of dancing required. This wasn't street dance after all; it was 'Big Band' dancing, with all the various styles of ballroom dancing represented.

"Secondary school elective," both men chorused, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"Of course, it would be a good place to meet girls," Sherlock sniffed, rolling his eyes, "But if the two of you can dance together then we can get in there."

"Together?" Lestrade squeaked.

"What, you think I'll stand on your toes or something?" John retorted, clearly stung at the idea that the DI didn't want to be seen in public dancing with him.

Sherlock concealed his smirk expertly. He didn't have to intervene in the ensuing argument at all to get them to agree to enter as a couple of mates 'on a lark'.

"At least it's for a good cause," Lestrade said gloomily once the dust settled, "Red Nose Day does a fair amount of good."

"I'll see about getting you registered and I know someone who can give you pointers," Sherlock announced, standing up and gathering John as he did, bundling the smaller man into his coat. Distraction was key here if he was to get this past them both, "I'll set up a meeting and you can have a practice together and pick some music. I'll text you the details, Lestrade."

Sherlock swept out of the office, pushing John ahead of him, careful to be just aggravating enough to distract the doctor without really annoying him.

After all, he didn't want to risk that the caper wouldn't come off. And he really did need to get inside the venue to see if it was being used for trafficking stolen musical instruments.

%&%&%

"How did we get talked into this again?" Greg muttered to John, who sighed.

"We were manipulated into volunteering by a master," the doctor replied glumly, "Who will be sleeping on the couch for a week, I swear it."

"Good luck with that, mate," Greg grinned. It always amused him to see John treat Sherlock as an ordinary partner. The good doctor put up with one hell of a lot from his eccentric lover at times and only a man with strong convictions and a backbone would have lasted as long as those two had. It didn't hurt that Sherlock was visibly the happiest that Lestrade had ever seen, which in Sherlock's case meant he was marginally more polite and very occasionally did something nice for another person.

Sherlock's contact – who went by the rather improbable name of Ethelbert – was wearing a powder blue outfit of tight trousers, flared slightly at the calf, a tight shirt tucked into the high waist and shoes with a slight heel and thin soles. The blonde hair was sprayed firmly into place and the strip of chest, neck and face that was visible was orange in the best spray tan tradition. He was finely muscled in the way most dancers were and his eyes were bright as he paraded across the empty dance floor towards them.

"Well, we've not got a lot to work with here," he muttered as he walked around the two men. He blanched a little at the look he received from Sherlock, who was hovering by the music system and drew himself up.

"So, I am told that you had some dance lessons many years ago?" the question was dripping with disdain, "At least you're fairly fit. Which dances do you remember?"

"Cha cha," Greg replied at once, beginning to wonder if he could move fast enough to get out of here before Sherlock pounced on him. They had to be ready by Saturday night, which was when the 'charity dance off' was being held. That left them five days to practice.

"I can do that," John agreed, then grinned in reminiscence, "My favourite was the swing though."

"Oh yeah," Greg chuckled. The swing had always offered the most chance for contact with his dance partner, "That was a good one."

"Hmm, there is a lot of possibility there," Ethelbert nodded, "Let's try the cha cha first, then gentlemen. As you are shorter John, you'll follow. Sherlock, darling, you can collect them in three hours from now."

"Three hours?" Sherlock spluttered while John looked resigned and rolled his eyes at Greg's grin, "They only need to be able to dance together…"

"Three hours!" Ethelbert insisted, "Off with you now, you know I don't dance in front of audiences!"

Greg very nearly asked what sort of dance instructor didn't dance in front of audiences, but chose instead to square off with John, trying to remember which foot he stepped with first.

After all, if he injured John he'd have to deal with the Wrath Of Sherlock, which was not to be taken lightly.

%&%&%

"But Joooooohn…"

Sherlock took whining like a three year old to new levels John mused as he peeled his coat off and rolled his shoulders.

"I'm not showing you the dance routine, Sherlock," John replied firmly, "Nor am I telling you the music we're using or describing the costumes we're wearing."

"But…"

There went the pout and soulful eyes. Unfortunately for Sherlock, John had developed a significant degree of resistance to that particular look out of sheer self defence.

"You know my terms, Sherlock. Until you tell me exactly _who_ decided to publicise our entry into this… event… I tell you nothing," John folded his arms and toed out of his trainers, leaving them by the door and padding to the couch, where he sat down with a sigh.

Ethelbert was very energetic in his choreography. They'd practiced for three hours on Monday night, then for four hours the next. Each new day they added another hour to their instruction, and on Saturday itself they'd have a six hour practice before the event itself. It was a bonkers schedule to fit in around their daily work schedule, but that was what they'd been hounded into by their surprisingly scary instructor and Greg had admitted that he'd rather not look like an idiot in front of the audience.

Unfortunately, that audience had gotten one hell of a lot bigger than either man had signed on for. Sherlock had registered the two reluctant dancers while they had their first ever practice and by Tuesday morning they were an Internet Phenomenon. Now John had promises from a Lord, a Peer of the Realm and a business tycoon for pound to pound pledges. Whatever money was raised as a result of he and Greg dancing on Saturday night would be matched by each of their three major sponsors.

They'd been allocated a page on the charity's website where people could go to make donations and so far they'd accrued nearly three thousand pounds from friends, family and members of Scotland Yard. The lads in John's old unit had gotten together and pledged five hundred pounds of that – a gesture that guaranteed John's cooperation and appearance on Saturday.

"Not fair," Sherlock sulked and sunk down in his armchair. John smiled at him fondly and got out of his chair, kneeling in front of Sherlock and shuffling forward between the long legs.

"When you pout like that…" John breathed and leaned forward, kissing said pout as he walked his fingers up the inside of Sherlock's slowly widening thighs. It was a move guaranteed to distract the genius and it worked like a charm.

%&%&%

On Saturday night Sherlock would have to admit that he was in a state of excitement – and not the sort of excitement that led to John engaging him in coitus.

Firstly, he would _finally_ get to see John and Lestrade dance together, something that he had been denied ever since he'd turned them into an internet phenomenon as a distraction – although he would deny doing it with his last breath. Secondly, he'd have a chance to finally wrap up his musical instrument smuggling case.

In fact, it only took him three minutes of walking through the backstage area of the venue to solve the case and he had the evidence in Donovan's hands and the criminals in custody twenty minutes later.

Donovan had been forced to work with him as punishment for her part in mobilising the Yard to sponsor the dancers. Sherlock had felt no compunction for grassing her up to John, especially when Anderson had been heard to make several snide and uncalled for comments at a crime scene on Wednesday. The scene had been unrelated to the case _du jour_ but that was neither here nor there. No one was allowed to mock John; no matter what it was he was doing, except for Sherlock and only then because John allowed it.

Mrs Lestrade, the two Lestrade Offspring and Mrs Hudson had all conspired to get seats together, which meant that Sherlock was hemmed in by people who expected him to Behave. John and Lestrade weren't until the middle of the program, and in the meantime Sherlock was enjoying judging the other dancers in tandem with Lestrade's daughter, who was a dancer herself and just at the age where she was a sharp critic – she had the subject knowledge to be informed and was just catty enough to be entertaining.

For a wonder, the 'Big Band' was professional, which meant they were in tune and on tempo. There was even a singing quartet that was also in key for the few tunes that required vocalists. Had it been otherwise Sherlock would have been forced to resort to the ear plugs he'd hidden in one pocket before leaving the house.

They suffered through an hour of sub-par dancers, including one 'traditional folk dance' that saw a member of the troupe fall into the orchestra pit and a group of tap dancing six year olds that was only redeemed by the hair pulling match that had occurred just before the music started.

Intermission was next, an interminable half hour in which Sherlock was obliged by Mrs Hudson to fetch them all refreshments. Her threat of telling John that he'd been misbehaving was surprisingly good at motivating him to comply.

Finally, the idiot presenter – who was apparently some sort of Personality, but Sherlock just didn't see it – announced the Internet Phenomenon themselves, Dr John Watson and Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.

The lights went down and Sherlock leaned forward eagerly. He was almost sure he heard Lestrade mutter 'do I look gay in this' and John's answering giggle before the lights came up again.

Ethelbert had sensibly decided not to go too far with his dancers, which meant they were wearing black trousers with a modest flare to the leg and tightly tailored dark red shirts. They had both eschewed dramatic makeup and extreme hair styling, which was in their favour as far as Sherlock was concerned.

There was a moment of silence and then the opening lines of Alesha Dixon's 'The Boy Does Nothing' blared out.

"I got a man with two left feet. And when he dances not to the beat. I really think that he should know that his rhythm's go, go, go!"

John and Greg shrugged, linked hands and then _moved._

It was incredible. The song was fast paced, but it didn't seem to faze the two dancers on the stage, moving through complicated foot work and direction changes in perfect tandem. This was no cha cha – it was swing at its best, comprising of a combination of dancing face to face and side by side. The two men switched off the lead, lifting each other or sliding across the floor with easy grace.

The audience was beside itself, clapping in rhythm, stamping its feet. Wolf whistles and shouts of appreciation almost drowned the music out at times. The sheer energy in the venue was indescribable, crawling over Sherlock's skin with tiny pinpricking feet. He smirked for the entire performance, because no matter what was shouted, he knew who John was going home with tonight and that was all that mattered.

He watched his lover and assistant spin and trade off through a dynamic sequence as the song drew to a close. Sherlock was just beginning to feel disappointed that it was drawing to an end when Greg pulled himself up to his most imposing glare to the words,

"And if the man can't dance, he gets no second chance."

John appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, leapfrogging over Lestrade's shoulders and landing in front of him, striking an obvious 'ta da' pose as the music crashed to a halt.

The crowd rose to its feet as one, screaming and yelling. Sherlock joined them.

John and Lestrade are the only act to get an encore that night.

END

AN – hope you liked it hon!


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